The sun had veered to the west, no longer hanging proudly from the sky.
An old, lone tree stood at the top of the hill, a little to the left. Its boughs stretched almost fully to its sides, seemingly bearing the weight of its leaves.
The grass was of a young, but healthy sort of green. Not too dark, but not too light, either.
Faint wisps of white clouds could still be seen up in the yellowing sky, but the small gathering of black clouds quite a distance away would have greatly demanded one’s attention as well.
The half-murky brook flowed gently down the valley, breaking into even tinier streams before joining together as one again.
Cows peppered the hill, grazing peacefully, oblivious to the roaring vehicles by the highway. The animals did not look to have moved at all, having seemingly made out of cardboard – if not for the occasional swishing of a tail or two.
I cruise by that highway every weekday on my way home from work, and I have probably less than five seconds to take it all in.
The sky is not always the same, though – besides, weather forecasts are usually not accurate. The cows are not always there, but they make an essential addition to that simple scene.
There is just something strangely soothing to that sight. Almost picture perfect, in fact – just like a magnified version of what you normally see on milk cartons.
Too bad the cows are not of colours black and white.
What, what makes you think my favourite animal is the cow?!